


just keep on coming back to you

by thepriestthinksitsthedevil (stubliminalmessaging)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: (it's v light tho), Alternate Universe - World War I, Gunshot Wounds, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Nightmares, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Rutting, Sad with a Happy Ending, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-12-30 12:23:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12108651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stubliminalmessaging/pseuds/thepriestthinksitsthedevil
Summary: The only thing that Louis could think of when he got shot was that he’d never get to tell Harry he loved him again. He was going to die, in the rain and the mud, amidst gunfire and explosions, and he was never going to get to hold Harry in his arms or kiss him or make love to him ever again.





	just keep on coming back to you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yetanotherfangirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yetanotherfangirl/gifts).



> ahhhhh!!! this is done!! to my giftee: your requests challenged me but once i thought of a plot, i really enjoyed writing this! i know it's kind of short, but i hope you enjoy it, i put a lot of work into it!!
> 
> as always, thanks to [jada, my beta](https://jada-the-beta.tumblr.com) for helping with this on very short notice!
> 
> anyways, enjoy!!

The only thing that Louis could think of when he got shot was that he’d never get to tell Harry he loved him again. He was going to die, in the rain and the mud, amidst gunfire and explosions, and he was never going to get to hold Harry in his arms or kiss him or make love to him ever again. He just hoped that Harry would make it out of the war alive and that someone would tell him that Louis had died.

 

Harry’s face was the last thing he saw when he passed out, dimple popping as he smiled, mossy green eyes twinkling. He supposed that if he was going to die, there were definitely worse final thoughts he could have than of the boy he had loved for as long as he could remember. His beautiful, radiant face was the image that Louis would take to the afterlife and he would wait eagerly for him on the other side.

 

The next thing Louis knew, he was lying on a cot in a tent with people bustling around him. He blinked up at the ceiling and made an attempt to sit up but felt searing pain lance through his shoulder and back. He fell back down onto the cot, groaning and letting his eyes flutter shut. The pain made sense - he’d been shot, after all, and the pain throbbed outward from his shoulder. What he did not understand so well was how he was still alive and breathing after he’d passed out in the trench.

 

A nurse appeared from the haphazard chaos around him and began inspecting him, rolling him onto his side to get a better look at his shoulder. Louis grit his teeth and let her do it, blinking back the tears that sprung to his eyes without his permission. When the nurse rolled him back onto his back and went about doing her other checks, he tried to speak. Nothing came out but rasps of air but it was enough. The nurse gasped and looked at him, took in his open eyes and grimacing mouth.

 

He made another attempt at speaking, throat dry and lips cracked, and all that came out was another pathetic rattle of a sound. The nurse left him for a moment and hurried back with a canteen of water, tipping it against his lips. Louis wanted to guzzle the water down, felt like it was the only thing that would quench his thirst, but the nurse held the canteen far enough away that he was forced to take measured little sips. When his mouth was wet enough for him to speak, Louis stammered out as many whats and wheres and hows as he could.

 

“Please calm down, son,” she said, a comforting but firm hand settling on his good shoulder to keep him still on the bed. “The more you move around, the more it’s going to hurt.”

 

“I got  _ shot _ ,” Louis said, settling down against the bed like he was told to but still staring as the nurse. “In a trench.”

 

“Well you’re not in a trench now,” she commented, going back to work on him.

 

“Where am I? How am alive?” he asked, licking his lips to moisten them.

 

“You picked a good place to get shot at the right time,” the nurse replied in a slow, soothing voice. “Someone saw it happen and got you out of there before you bled out. You’re very lucky.”

 

Louis was quiet as she went on, explaining that he was no longer fit to fight in war any longer. She said he would be honourably discharged, put on a train, and sent back home to recover and hopefully never return to active duty. She talked about it like he was going on vacation but he saw it as watching the war go on from the sidelines. He felt like a coward and a failure and he knew that other people would think that too. They would look at him and see some weakling whose only responsibility was to not get mutilated. He couldn’t even die properly; had to be rescued by someone and then sent home to his mum three months into the war, where he would function as little more than a burden to his family for the rest of his life.

 

The nurse kept calling him lucky, but he sincerely wished he had died out there in the muddy trench where he’d been shot.

 

The train ride home had taken both an instant and an eternity. He was, of course, excited to be home and see his family and friends, but going home meant drifting aimlessly like he had been before mandatory enlistment. The only thing that he knew for sure about his future was that he wanted to be with Harry, in any capacity that he could, and even that was just a distant impossible dream. For all Louis knew, Harry could already be dead in some trench similar to the ones Louis had spent the past three months in.

 

He spent the entire journey at both ends of the spectrum of his emotions: he was either dreading going home and seeing their pitying glances out of corner of his eye or he harboured a tiny shred of hope that he would get home to find Harry alive and well and still in love with him like he’d been before they’d both left for the war.

 

When he finally did arrive home, he found that he experienced neither of those things. His family was excited like Louis knew they would be; his sisters didn’t let him get in through the door because they were so enthusiastic in greeting him and embracing him and he shook and cried in his mum’s arms when she hugged him extra long.

 

His family had known when he’d been sent home; they’d received a letter when he’d been injured informing them of his honourable discharge, and they had prepared a celebration in his honour. Louis didn’t feel much like eating or drinking but he humoured them anyways, let his mum feed him until he felt like he might burst and let his sisters hang off of him like lemurs. He could admit that it felt good to eat a full, real meal and to be surrounded by such loving, proud people.

 

By the time his family was done with celebrating his return, Louis was exhausted. The younger girls had fallen asleep first and Louis had helped bring them up to bed. Then he sat up for a bit longer with his mum and his older siblings, listening to them talk and enjoying their company. Soon they were yawning every other word and all agreed that it was time for bed. Louis hugged the girls and his mum one more time before he went upstairs and washed his face and teeth before bed.

 

Opening his room for the first time in months was like opening up a vault. It was cold and still and dusty and Louis shivered when he stepped inside. He pulled back the pristine bedding and stared at the space where he used to sleep every night, then crawled into bed. After months of sleeping of cots or on the cold hard wet ground, he thought that maybe it would be difficult to get comfortable with such a comparatively soft bed. He found it comfortable and easy to find the right position to sleep in, but his thoughts were what kept him awake most of the night.

 

Louis could not stop thinking about Harry, wondering where he was and what he was doing and if he was alive. He wondered if he had been able to communicate much with his family like Louis had. It had only been the occasional letter every few weeks between Louis and his family but it had been something, so hopefully Anne and Gemma received messages from Harry once in a while. Harry’s family had been close with Louis’ their entire lives, so Louis was sure that he could ask his mum if they had heard anything from him. Louis resolved to ask his mum about it the next day, and rolled over onto his other side, hoping that having a plan of action would quiet his mind and let him drift off.

 

The pain radiating out from his wound prevented that from happening, and he finally gave up on sleep when the first rays of sunlight filtered through his curtains. He checked his watch and found that it was half past five. He supposed that if he got tired later in the day, he could always sleep then. It was not like he had a job to go to during the day, nor could he get one until his wound healed. He would spend his days helping his mum and sisters until he could go out and get a job in some office somewhere. It was what he had done before he enlisted, after all. It was all he knew how to do. Besides crawling around in trenches and getting shot at, anyways.

 

He flopped on his back, mindful of his aching shoulder, and heaved a sigh. Then he rolled out of bed and got dressed, going downstairs and starting the kettle on the smouldering wood stove. He stocked the wood in it and poked at it while the kettle warmed up. He didn’t see or hear another soul until his mother came down the stairs. She seemed surprised to see him up already, and he forced a smile when she entered the kitchen where he’d sat down at the table with his still-steaming cup of tea.

 

“You should be sleeping,” Jay said, but she went to pour herself a cup from the still-hot kettle on the stove.

 

“Getting shot hurts,” Louis commented. “Laying around in too much pain to fall asleep isn’t very useful.”

 

“You don’t need to worry about being useful, love. You just need to focus on healing.” Her eyes strayed down to his shoulder, the back of which had been ripped open by the bullet. “Don’t strain yourself.”

 

“M’not going to die pouring myself a cup of tea,” Louis grumbled, taking a sip from his cup.

 

“I know,” Jay said, and Louis felt guilty for how bitter and defensive that must have sounded. His mother spoke up before Louis could apologize or say anything else. “You were gone for months. I could have lost you. Let me mother you for a bit, will you?”

 

Louis hid his smile behind the lip of his cup. They were silent for a moment before Jay created an opening that Louis didn’t think he would get.

 

“Did you end up anywhere near Harry?” she asked, and just hearing his name in a familiar voice had him feeling warm and fuzzy in a way that his cup of tea just couldn’t match. “Were you on the same front?”

 

Louis shook his head. “No. I haven’t seen him since the going away party.” That wasn’t strictly true, but his mum didn’t need to know about the last night he’d spent with Harry before they both got deployed. “Have you heard anything from him? Has his mum?”

 

“Yes,” Jay replied. “Anne has heard from him a few times. Never very much, just letters saying that he’s alright and still alive.” Louis tried to contain his relief at hearing that, but Jay must have picked it up anyway. “It was probably driving you crazy, not knowing anything about how he was doing.”

 

“Yeah,” Louis mumbled. “Was scared for him.”

 

“You’re a good friend,” Jay said with a smile, her eyes crinkling around the edges in the same way that Louis’ did. Harry had adored every little line when he smiled like that, pressing reverent kisses to his eyelids and cheekbones. “We can go visit his family today, if you’d like. Anne welcomes company now, more than ever. It’s quiet with just her and Gemma.”

 

“I’d like that,” Louis said. “Are they alright?” Harry had always been close with his mother and sister. He couldn’t imagine they were taking his absence well.

 

“As alright as they can be,” Jay replied. “I offered for them to stay in your room until you got back so they wouldn’t have to be so lonely. We’re doing everything we can to support them.”

 

“Thank you,” Louis told her. “For keeping everything on track while I was gone. For taking care of everyone. Not that I didn’t think you would, but it’s good to get back and see that everyone I care about is doing alright.”

 

“I knew you’d be back,” Jay said with a smile, curling her fingers around her warm cup. “I knew my boy would come back to me.”

 

Louis appreciated the sentiment, but he didn’t feel it like she did. He was terrified of what would become of  _ his _ boy.

 

-

 

Visiting Harry’s family had been pleasant. Gemma and Anne both hugged Louis so tight that his wound seared with pain but he just gritted his teeth and bore it. They didn’t know it, but there was an aspect of solidarity between them and Louis.

 

Louis and his mum went over to the Styles house and had lunch with Anne while the girls were at school and work. Louis knew it was insensitive to ask about Harry when Anne was clearly missing him so desperately and worried about him like she was, but Louis couldn’t resist. Without much prompting at all, Anne handed him the handful of sheets of paper that were the letters that Harry had been sending her, and Louis’ hands shook as he read them.

 

Each word was something to be cherished, and Louis nearly started crying when he read through the familiar cursive that Harry’s beautiful hands had crafted. The paper was miraculously clean for the conditions he probably wrote the letters in, which made Louis feel optimistic about where he’d ended up being stationed. If he could keep paper clean, he likely wasn’t trapped in some muddy trench like Louis had been.

 

Louis had resisted the urge to hold onto the letters for as long as possible, overly conscious of the fact that Harry had touched these papers however long ago, and had put love into writing these words. He gave them back to Anne and barely kept himself from asking more questions about Harry during their visit. Not only was it cruel to be such a blatant reminder of her son’s absence and the danger he was in, but asking too many questions too frequently about Harry and being too invested would lead to her putting together that he and Harry had been more than just childhood best friends.

 

Louis sat down with his mum and Anne and had lunch with them, but the whole time they were visiting, Louis’ mind was on Harry and all the memories he had of his boy in the space around them. He was quiet and distant throughout the visit and if Anne and his mum noticed, they must have either chosen not to mention it, put it down to him being shell-shocked, or both. Being in such a memory-laden place was both good and bad for Louis; he kept thinking of how he’d kissed Harry against the counter where they’d prepared lunch, touching him and hissing at him to keep quiet. They’d kissed in this kitchen so many times, quiet and secret, but Louis had treasured each one. The memories just made him miss Harry more, made him think about Harry suffering and dying so far away from Louis. He thought again of how he might never kiss or touch or see Harry ever again and he had to choke back tears, suddenly put off his lunch. His mum and Anne didn’t mention that either, and for that Louis was glad.

 

-

 

Spending time with Harry’s family was exquisite torture. Anne and Gemma weren’t sleeping at Louis’ mum’s house but they might as well have been living there, since they spent all their waking hours there with the exception of when Gemma worked. They shared groceries and ate all their meals together, and spent time with Louis’ sisters during their spare time. Louis didn’t mind, of course; if he was missing Harry then they were too, they were his damn  _ family _ , after all.

 

Because Gemma and Anne were always around, Louis knew as soon as it happened when Harry stopped sending letters. Time passed as it always did; the girls went to school, Louis helped his mum around the house until he was well enough to find a job and when he did he started working. Louis got a job as a secretary in an office. It was the kind of work he was accustomed to and it put minimal strain on his injury. Louis wasn’t in perfect condition, but in a relative way he was. He wondered if he would ever be completely devoid of pain. The doctor he went to said that they couldn’t know for sure, but something told Louis that it was only going to get worse as he got older.

 

Louis didn’t sleep because of the pain and when he did sleep he was plagued by nightmares. He dreamed that he was dying in the trench all over again. He dreamed of himself being overtaken by enemy soldiers, overtaken by hungry rats, overtaken by mud and water and decay. Then he’d dream that it was  _ Harry _ suffering all those fates and he’d awake with a start, his heart pounding, his shoulder aching, and his entire body sticky with sweat.

 

Louis was exhausted and life went on and time passed and Harry stopped sending letters. Anne wrote letters and mailed them off to him every week or so but she never received one in return. No one wanted to suggest that the letters stopped because Harry had died, but the dread still settled in the pit of Louis’ stomach and creeped through him like an infection.

 

A little bit over four years after Louis was shot, international news broke in all the papers and on all the radio stations. The war was over. Treaties had been drawn up and signed and the men that were deployed would be going home from their respective fronts. Louis’ and Harry’s families came together in a huddle of sobbing and smiling and laughing. The whole country was rejoicing, but it felt to their families like they were just awaiting the return of a missing piece in their lives. They had not heard from Harry in a long time, not since Louis had returned home, but this was it. This was the end of the war and if Harry could still come home, he would.

 

Men were returning to their town over the next few weeks. There were obvious absences, obvious gaps in families where sons and fathers and husbands and brothers had lost their lives serving their country, and in those households there sat a grief too terrible to name and a void that could not be filled.

 

Louis fought doubt and guilt for as long as he could. The men returning from the war started in droves and, as time passed, thinned out to a trickle. A month and a half after the war had ended, a soldier only returned to town every couple of days, and when three months had passed it seemed like there was no one left to return. All of the men were either back at home or dead in another country, and that seemed to include Harry Styles.

 

Anne cried and Louis’ mum was there to comfort her. Louis’ sisters were there to comfort Gemma when she was upset and they cried too and everyone tried to comfort each other. Louis did his best to keep his crying private. His mother and sisters already treated him like he was made of glass and he didn’t want to give them any other reason to think he was fragile.

 

Instead, Louis did his crying and mourning at night where no one could see or hear him or wonder why he was so upset over the death of his friend. He cried for the man he’d loved and lost. He knew that they would never have been able to properly be together, not with the world like it was, but they could have had  _ something _ , and that possible future was dead before it even had a chance to get started.

 

-

 

The day it happened was a Tuesday, and Louis had just been getting home from work. He arrived home to find the house eerily quiet. He called out his siblings’ names and his mum’s and cased the upstairs level and then downstairs. He supposed that if they were all gone anywhere, it would be visit Anne and Gemma, perhaps for dinner. Louis dropped off his lunchbox and his bag from work and then left the house, heading a few houses down to the Styles’ house.

 

As Louis approached, he saw lights on from inside the windows and he could hear loud, happy voices that basically confirmed his suspicion that his family was inside. Louis went to the front door and knocked, but the occupants of the house must have been so distracted by each other that he didn’t hear him, so eventually he opened the unlocked door himself and stepped inside.

 

As expected, Louis spotted his entire family immediately. The twins sat on the floor paying with dolls, and Charlotte and Felicite sat at the table with Anne and Jay and Gemma and between them sat… Harry.

 

Louis froze in the doorway, staring at Harry where he sat at the table, cradling a cup of tea. Anne and Jay were chattering away to him on either side of him but he just listening, curls falling to his shoulders. No one had noticed Louis standing at the threshold, when suddenly Harry looked up as if he had sensed Louis’ presence. Their eyes locked and Louis felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes as he looked at him. He wouldn’t let himself blink, terrified that the dream sitting in front of him would disappear. Louis was a man dying in the desert, and if he closed his eyes for even a second, Harry might disperse like a mirage conjured by his thirsty heart.

 

“Louis,” Harry murmured, and the word dropped from his lips like a bomb.

 

The rest of his family and Harry’s noticed Louis standing in the doorway then, and they all called out variations of greetings and exclamations at the good fortune of Harry’s return but they might as well have been speaking a different language for all the comprehension Louis got out of their words.

 

He stepped into the house and closed the door, feeling all at once numb and overwhelmed with emotion. His legs felt like wood when he stepped further into the room, and he stopped at the edge of the table where Harry sat with their mothers and sisters and he stopped. He managed to force what he hoped was a warm smile that didn’t come out as a grimace like he felt like it probably did. He was happy that Harry was home and alive and safe, overjoyed even, so happy that his body didn’t know what to do with it so he setted on shock. It was either that or climb on his hands and knees across the table to push Harry against the back of his chair and kiss him senseless in front of their families.

 

“We’re so happy to have Harry home, your mum suggested we all have dinner together to celebrate!” Anne said, voice wavering with the happy energy she felt that she hadn’t yet shed. Louis knew the feeling.

 

-

 

Harry’s unexpected homecoming celebration had involved a lot of food and a lot of wine and beer. If Louis’ alcohol tolerance had lessened during his time at war and the -mostly-sober years he’d chosen to live afterwards, Harry’s had been reduced to absolutely nothing. He was giggly and tipsy by the end of a bottle of beer, and he was nursing a large glass of wine and steadily getting louder. Harry had always been a flirty drunk, which was what worried Louis.

 

Louis knew that they had to be careful. He knew that what he and Harry had together had to remain secret, for both their sakes. It was hard to try and reign in his affection and his love and his  _ need _ to have a hand on Harry at any given moment. Thinking he had probably died had taken a toll on Louis, and he had lost all hope, so having Harry with him, shaken but whole and alive, felt like Louis was living in a dream.

 

They sat across the table from each other but Louis pointedly made sure they kept their distance. In a way, it was so similar to how their interactions had been before they had both left that it was eerie. Years apart and nearly dying had not made the world any more kind, and so no one could know just how desperately Louis longed to touch Harry, to kiss him and feel him with his own two hands and to have physical, tangible proof that he was  _ alive _ .

 

Harry caught his eye a handful of times, eyes darting away the second Louis’ eyes met his, and Louis burned to get him alone and get his hands all over him. He stopped when he thought about how they had parted, how Harry had told him that he had enlisted and Louis had admitted that he had too and that they would be split up. Louis suggested that they would be better off parting ways before they were separated, because then they would part on their own terms and make good memories to remember each other by. They had made love one last time and each man had tried hard not to let the other see him cry, and parted bittersweetly, so certain that one or both of them were going to die and they were never going to see each other again.

 

They got less and less subtle as the night wore on and it would have been a lot more worrisome if the rest of their families did not also get less perceptive as the adults got more drunk and the children got more sleepy. Harry was throwing him heated looks from across the table as he pursed his lips against the rim of his glass in a positively obscene display. Harry held onto his gaze and swirled his red-stained tongue around the rim of the bottle and Louis stood up abruptly, banging his knee on the underside of the table.

 

“Harry’s told me he’s tired,” Louis stammered, watching as Harry smirked and set down his bottle. He yawned and stretched and got to his feet, corroborating Louis’ story with his body language. “I’m going to help him get up to his room and then I’m going to bed as well.”

 

Their families called out their goodnight wishes and a few demanded parting hugs from them which they went around to give. Their mums clung to them both and Louis could hear the tears in Jay’s hitching breaths. Louis comforted his mum for a moment before he untangled her arms from around himself and went off upstairs with Harry. Harry leaned heavily on him, arm draped around Louis’ shoulders for support, and even if years and a  _ war _ had passed, that apparently hadn’t changed how Harry smelled.

 

Louis breathed in the scent while they made their way to Harry’s room, and it brought to mind countless memories of the time they had spent together all their lives. They grew up together, learned lessons about life and themselves and fell in love along the way. They would never live in a world where they could be together and proud, and they had both been alright with that. Louis wondered if that was still enough for Harry, now that he had been out and seen the world beyond the scope of his doorstep.

 

Louis fumbled to open Harry’s bedroom door with the man acting like a tall gangly barnacle, but once he did they stumbled inside and shut the door behind them. Louis didn’t know what he expected Harry to do once they were alone together, but kissing seemed like as good a start as any. Louis moved to kiss Harry, but found Harry’s hands cupping his jaw, keeping him close and leaning their temples together.

 

“I thought you were dead,” Louis breathed, pressing his nose against Harry’s cheek and breathing him in.

 

“Sometimes I wished I was,” Harry said, fingers trembling where they held Louis’ face.

 

“Me too,” Louis said. “Never thought I’d get to touch you like this again.” His hands drifted to hold Harry’s hips, fingers sliding under the edge of his shirt to feel warm, solid skin. Harry squirmed under Louis’ touch, huffing humid breaths into the narrow space between them. Harry sighed when their mouths finally met. Harry’s mouth was wet and hot and Louis was rougher and sharper than he would have been years ago. They were drunk off alcohol and love and the touch of hands that they had assumed they would never feel again, so a little clumsiness was excusable. They were rediscovering each other’s bodies, and Louis was practically shaking from excitement.

 

Despite what was literally over four years of build up, things were sloppy and quick. They lacked all finesse as they stripped each other just enough to get a hand around the other’s cock, and they moaned and gasped into each other’s mouths. Their hips rutted erratically against each other, and they kissed messily as they brought each other off swiftly. Too long without being touched and the desperation they felt from being together again made what might have otherwise been an embarrassing sexual encounter into a sweet one, and both men hummed happily as they kissed.

 

After they had cooled down, kissing softly and holding each other leaning against the back of door as they let their heart rates slow, Harry stripped his shirt off and used it to mop up the come off their hands and stomachs. The familiarity of it made Louis smile to himself. Harry always took every possible opportunity to take his clothes off.

 

Once they were relatively clean and Harry had tossed his shirt somewhere in the dark of his bedroom, he caught Louis’ hand and tugged him in close. Louis had been stalling, avoiding addressing the fact that he had to go back downstairs at some point, that he had to go back to his own house to sleep. Neither of them wanted to move, feeling as if the spell over them would break if they did. Harry stooped down and pressed a dry but firm kiss to Louis’ mouth.

 

“Stay the night,” he suggested, and before Louis could protest, he went on. “If anyone asks in the morning, we can say you were too drunk to get home so you passed out in my bed. It’s plenty big enough, and we used to do it as kids all the time.”

 

“Definitely not kids now,” Louis snorted, eyes catching on Harry’s cock which he hadn’t tucked away yet. Still, he let Harry pull him to the bed by the hand and crawled into it with him. Harry rolled onto his side and showed his back to Louis, inviting him to curl his body around Harry’s.

 

“Need to lock the door before we fall asleep like this,” Louis reminded him, getting to his feet and wobbling towards the door. He locked it and then joined Harry in bed again, conscious of the grumpy pout on Harry’s full lips. Louis curled himself around Harry’s body and reached up, catching his thumb on Harry’s plump lower lip.

 

“I love you,” he whispered, tracing light fingertips over Harry’s cheek. He could feel it when Harry smiled, his cheek rounding and his dimple creating a dent in the flesh.

 

“I love you too,” Harry rumbled and Louis both felt and heard the noise through his back. “I never thought I’d have this again.”

 

“Me either,” Louis said. “I’m glad I didn’t die out there if it means I get to be here with you, like this.”

 

Harry hummed in pleasure and went quiet, probably exhausted and happy to be sleeping in a bed instead of wherever it was that he’d been. Louis would ask him later, when he didn’t have sleep to catch up on and sex to have to make up for lost time. Louis closed his eyes and sighed, truly happy for the first time since before he’d enlisted.

 

Sleep eluded Louis no matter what he tried. Harry was out like a light; tired from his busy day and the orgasm Louis had given him, and he was snoring in Louis’ arms. This was a source of comfort for Louis all on its own; knowing that his boy was getting the sleep he needed calmed him. Unfortunately, that did nothing to lessen the pain in his shoulder enough for him to drift off himself. Louis didn’t move, though. He didn’t want to disturb Harry who was sleeping like a rock like he used to before they’d parted ways.

 

After what felt like an eternity of trying to sleep but was probably a little less than an hour, Louis closed his eyes and tried to just clear his mind. The pain receded to a dull ache and Louis felt himself getting fuzzy and vague at the edges of his consciousness when Harry squirmed and jostled him, breaking him from his doziness. Louis adjusted himself the tiniest bit and it seemed like Harry was settling back down and had gone still again, but then he began whimpering. He let out whines and cries and began trembling and long seconds passed with Louis getting more and more concerned. He only let it go on for another moment before he sat up on one elbow, using his other hand to shake Harry awake.

 

“N-no,” Harry cried softly, voice sounding distressingly close to a sob. Louis shook him with a little more urgency and he finally woke with a gasp, groggy and drowsy but no longer stirring and whimpering like he was being hurt. He trembled in Louis’ arms and Louis held him close, watching in the moonlight filtering through the window as Harry curled up as small as he could and ducked his head to hide it in his hands. His shoulders shook as he started properly crying, stifling his heart-breaking sobs into his pillow.

 

“You’re safe,” Louis found himself whispering almost without meaning to. “You’re home, in your bed in your mum’s house in England. You’re not out there anymore.”

 

Harry nodded slowly, biting his lip to keep from sobbing out loud. His face was shiny with tear tracks and spit and mucus from how he’d been crying, but Louis just wiped it all off with the edge of the sheet. “I’m safe,” he hiccuped.

 

“Yes, you are. You’ve survived the war and now that I’ve got you here with me, I’ll never let anything hurt you,” Louis promised, and he knew that he would do everything in his power to keep it.

 

Harry was quiet for another moment, calming down while Louis rubbed his belly in soothing circles and pressed kisses against his shoulder and the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I woke you,” he mumbled eventually.

 

“Wasn’t asleep,” Louis admitted.

 

Harry squirmed until he’d rolled over to face Louis and frowned, clearly concerned. “Why not?” Harry asked, taking in Louis grimace when faced with explaining himself.

 

“I...got shot?” Louis admitted to him, staring at the window behind Harry just as something to focus on. Harry tensed, but Louis needed to tell him so he kept talking. “Three months into the war, I got shot and someone saw it happen and they got me out of there.”

 

“What did you do then?” Harry asked, clearly expecting more when Louis stopped talking.

 

Louis shrugged, cringing as the movement made his shoulder twinge. “Healed. Got a job and worked. Waited to hear anything I could about you.”

 

Harry bit his lip. “Show me. Let me see it.”

 

It was Louis turn to roll over then, putting his back to Harry and letting him roll up the back of his shirt, revealing the red skin that puckered around where the bullet had entered his body. Louis was fortunate that he had been unconscious until after the bullet shards had been removed because he did not remember how it felt to have a nurse dig around inside his wound to find the pieces. He just had the residual soreness from the injury which had not gotten any better since he had gotten home, just became something he was used to. Louis barely felt it when Harry traced his fingers over the scar tissue but he knew by the twitchy frown and stormy furrowed brows that he could see when he turned his head that Harry was caught between being angry and crying again.

 

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” Harry said eventually, which was not what Louis had expected him to say. Every other person that he had encountered had asked him if it had hurt when it happened, which was a stupid question, or they didn’t talk about it at all because it made them uncomfortable. Harry threw an arm across his back and hugged him, and Louis settled down on his front so that Harry could cuddle him easier.

 

“I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come home,” Louis commented honestly.

 

“You would have gone on,” Harry said with confidence. “You would have been sad but you would have lived on.” He stroked his fingers through the hair on the back of Louis’ head. “Don’t talk about that anymore. I came back and so did you and we’re shaken up and full of holes, but we’re here and we’re together.”

 

“Mm,” Louis hummed, affirmatively. Maybe they had some things to work through before they were truly good again, and maybe they never really would be. “Together,” he agreed, turning his head so that Harry could see his smile and it wouldn’t be lost in his pillow.


End file.
